


Rest for the Restless

by Zivvanon



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Gen, Golisopod tries to help too, Guzma needs someone bossy anyways, Hurt/Comfort, It's not amazing at it, Plumeria's still working on her bedside manner, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-07 08:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8790532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zivvanon/pseuds/Zivvanon
Summary: Guzma is sick. The shivering, vomiting, existential crisis-inducing kind of sick. Good thing he has Plumeria and his Golisopod to help, even if their bedside manners are lacking.





	1. Nurse Plumeria

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to /guz/ for inspiring me to write something again!

Plumeria sighed as she made her way across the roof towards Guzma’s room, the medicine Nanu had given her clutched in her fist. It had been nearly a week since Guzma had come down with….something. Something that had him throwing up nearly every bite of food, sent him into coughing fits, and kept him from sleeping until he was raging with furious exhaustion. He was in such a bad state that his Pokémon were panicked over it, to the point where Guzma had to be convinced to keep them in their Pokeballs until he got somewhat better. 

But that wasn’t happening. After days of the Grunts doing nothing but freaking out and Guzma doing everything but getting better, Plumeria had felt she had no choice but to go to the grumpy old police officer for help. Nanu had handed her a vial of pink powder, claiming it had Chansey egg in it and would help. Plumeria wasn’t entirely sure she put it past Nanu to be fucking with them, but it was the best option she had. It wasn’t like Guzma’s precious Lusamine had even bothered to stop by and help with all her technology.

As she approached Guzma’s room, Plumeria suddenly had to dodge back to avoid the two terrified Grunts who burst out of the doors. There was the familiar sound of glass shattering against a wall as the two hightailed it down the stairs, scrambling over the fallen chandelier in their haste.

“Come back again and I’ll beat you down for good!” Guzma roared from inside. Despite the volume, Plumeria could tell that he lacked his normal fire. She groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose—it didn’t bode well for her if Guzma was in one of his stupid, stubborn, “I don’t want help” moods. But she’d never backed down from him before, and she wasn’t going to start now. 

She stepped into the room and closed the doors behind her, mentally steeling herself for a fight. All that met her was the sound of wet heaving and the sight of Guzma—looking oddly small in just a sweat-soaked white tanktop and black boxers—pitched halfway over the side of the bed and puking his guts up into a trashcan. Threatening his Grunts seemed to have taken a lot out of him.

“You done?” Plumeria asked, cocking her hip to the side and crossing her arms over her chest. “Because if you yell at me, you’re not getting this medicine.”

Guzma struggled to catch his breath as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and collapsed back onto the bed. “Beat it,” he ordered, his voice considerably weaker than before. Plumeria could tell that there was no real bite to the words. Either he’d already given up on getting her to leave, or he wanted her to stay.

“Nah, I think I’ll stay. Just to piss you off,” she replied as she evaluated the situation. Guzma’s blankets were in a pile on the ground; kicked off of the bed. The pillows were scattered around the mattress, all three caved in from being pounded with frustrated fists. Guzma himself was lying on his side, a hand clutching his stomach as he gasped out heavy breaths and glared at her. He looked like shit.

“You look like shit,” Plumeria said, trying to ignore the way her stomach dropped at how not big and bad Guzma was right now. The Team Skull leader said nothing and turned away from her, his whole body seeming to sag. Plumeria’s eyes widened when his shoulders started hitching and she heard a soft hiccuping sound. Was he…crying? She had no clue how to deal with a crying Guzma.

"You wanna know the worst part about this?" Guzma asked after a long period of silence, sounding more beaten down than Plumeria had ever heard him. "I could die right here and I'd leave nothing worthwhile behind." He brought a shaky hand up to tangle in his mussed hair and pressed his face into his bicep. "Someone'll come across those dusty old bronze trophies back home one day and say 'oh yeah, that shitty kid'’. And that'll be it.” 

He curled in on himself further, letting out a broken laugh that morphed into a cough. "How pathetic is that?"

Plumeria clenched her fingers into a tight fist and bit her bottom lip hard. Where the hell had that come from? Guzma never talked like this, at least not out loud. She struggled against the urge to hit the idiot, yell at him, curse at him, all of those combined. It wouldn't do any good right now.

"Shut up," she said calmly, walking over to the small table next to Guzma's bed. There was already a pitcher of water and a glass there—the other glass had been the victim of Guzma’s temper. She filled the intact cup with water, and then poured in some of the medicine. The pink powder quickly dissolved as she gave it a few swirls.

Guzma had been silent during the whole process, but then he gave a bitter snicker. "That's all you got to say, huh? Guess I shouldn't have expected more."

"I'm not going to join you in moping about how sad and meaningless your life is," Plumeria answered, stepping around to Guzma's side of the bed. "One, that's not my style. And two, you're wrong. Now sit up and drink this, you idiot."

Guzma didn't reply. He lifted his head, eyed the powder with a glassy gaze, then looked to the wall; anything to avoid eye contact. Now that Plumeria could see his face, she could tell that he hadn't actually been crying. That wasn't much of a comfort, though, considering the unhealthy flush in his cheeks and the sweat shining on his forehead. The circles around his eyes were much darker than usual, and any skin that wasn't flushed was pale and approaching grey.

"Get up," Plumeria urged again, unnerved by his silence. "Come on, don't make me pour it down your throat."

The bedsprings creaked as Guzma finally shifted and made an effort to sit up. Plumeria swallowed down a lump in her throat as she watched her boss struggle to even lift his torso, his breathing far too ragged. She set the glass aside and wrapped her arm around Guzma’s lean waist, bracing herself with a knee against the mattress so she could heave him further upright.

“There,” she said, panting from the effort. “Lean against me now.”

Guzma complied without a fight, which was very worrying. He slumped forward against Plumeria’s chest, his arms limp at his sides. His weight wasn’t inconsiderable, but Plumeria managed to hold him there as she reached out to grab an abused pillow. She settled it behind Guzma and pushed him backwards so he was propped against it and the headboard.

“Drink,” she demanded again, picking up the glass and thrusting it forward. Guzma said nothing again but didn’t hesitate this time. He closed a large, trembling hand around Plumeria’s, bringing it and the glass up to his lips. Plumeria tipped the cup steadily, watching the sickeningly pink liquid drain out with every too-slow bob of Guzma’s throat. 

“Fuck, that tastes horrible,” Guzma said once the glass was empty, finally breaking his silence, “You trying to poison me so you can be the boss instead? I always knew you were a snake.”

Plumeria couldn’t help but smile, even as Guzma lapsed into yet another coughing fit. She never thought she’d be so desperate to hear him open his big mouth. “Easy now, big guy,” she said, patting his back and tossing the empty glass aside. “Besides, if I wanted to kill you, you’d never see it coming.”

She moved to stand up again, and found herself caught by the wrist. Huffing, she patted Guzma’s hand, promising him without words that she wasn’t planning on leaving. Once he reluctantly released her, she walked around to the other side of the bed to kick off her sneakers and pick the discarded blankets up off of the floor.

“Oh yeah? How would you do it, then?” Guzma asked, following her movements and swaying in place. The medicine seemed to have already helped his throat a little.

“Hmm,” Plumeria plopped down onto the bed next to Guzma, throwing a blanket unceremoniously over his bare legs. “I think I’d go to your old house, grab one of those dusty old bronze trophies, then sneak up behind you and hit you over the head with it.” 

The hoarse but genuine laughter that met her reply was the best thing Plumeria had heard all day. 

“Fuck you too, Plume,” Guzma rasped, slurring from exhaustion at this point. “Your boy tries to get real for a moment and you just clown about it. Should’ve known better.”

“Yeah, you probably should’ve.” Plumeria reached out to grab Guzma’s shoulder and pull him sideways to lean on her. “And like I already told you, you’re wrong. You have a team of super strong bug Pokémon and a bunch of cute numskulls falling all over themselves to be your underlings and somehow you still think nobody cares. That’s the kind of downer shit I expect from Gladion.”

“That’s a low blow,” Guzma grumbled. He slumped against her and slid down until he was lying with his head resting against the side of her stomach. “But….thanks. I guess.” 

Plumeria rolled her eyes as he nuzzled into her and brought her hand down to cradle his head. He was like an over-sized Rockruff in those rare moments when he sought out affection.

“You’re welcome. I guess,” she said, pushing her fingers into his hair and combing it back from his forehead. The hair at his temples and in front was soaked in sweat and he probably needed a bath, but she ignored it for now. Instead she gently untangled the knots in the soft white locks, ghosting her fingertips over his scalp and smirking when he closed his eyes and let out a low moan. “Now shut up and rest. We need you to get better.”

“We?” Guzma asked, flashing her a tired, lopsided grin. Plumeria huffed and flicked his ear.

“Don’t push it.”

Guzma chuckled and settled down again, his body going lax and boneless as Plumeria continued to play with his hair. His breathing was raspy but relaxed, the medicine’s effects kicking in further. Plumeria wondered how long it had been since he’d gotten a decent night’s sleep.

“Someone’s gotta…feed Golisopod and the crew,” Guzma mumbled, half asleep. Of course that’s what he’d be thinking about while about to pass out from sickness and exhaustion.

“I’ll get a grunt to do it. Now go the fuck to sleep.” Plumeria was getting drowsy herself—Guzma was like Alola’s biggest hot water bottle against her side. But she wasn’t going to risk nodding off too while he was still in such a fragile state. Besides, she might ruin her makeup if she did.

It wasn’t long before Guzma was snoring, deep in desperately needed sleep. Plumeria smiled, satisfied, and settled in, preparing to turn away any disruptive Grunts with nothing but a glare. If they woke Guzma up at this point, she might just kill them.

And if Guzma ended up getting her sick, she’d kill him twice as hard. Or at the very least make him dress up as a sexy nurse and take care of her.


	2. Nurse Golisopod

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an unplanned and kind of messy second chapter based on a cute request in /guz/. Enjoy!

You really could sense when you were being watched. So Guzma was discovering as he fought to stay asleep even as he felt a pair of eyes burning holes into him. He almost succeeded too, until he felt a sharp prod at his bicep.

“Cut it out,” Guzma growled, swatting at the touch. He may have been feeling better, but he was nowhere close to fully healed. His head still felt like it was full of cotton and his stomach with angry Beedrill and he didn’t need this shit right now.

Another nudge, and Guzma officially gave up. He finally opened his eyes, and groaned when he saw familiar crossed pupils staring into his, way too close. Golisopod’s eyes weren’t anything like a human’s, but Guzma could still easily recognize the concern in them. That was the sort of thing that happened when you spent a good chunk of your childhood avoiding people and hanging out with bug Pokémon. He glanced down at the source of the prodding and saw one black claw nudging at his arm.

Golisopod trilled in excitement from his perch at the bedside, as if Guzma opening his eyes was some amazing and admirable feat. As Guzma groaned and dragged himself up into a sitting position, it hunched down to butt its head affectionately against his shoulder, one antenna roving over his face. Guzma humored it for a moment, then shoved the enthusiastic bug away. That hard, armor-like carapace didn’t exactly feel pleasant, and even after all these years Golisopod sometimes forgot it wasn’t a little Wimpod anymore. Its “gentle” nudges almost sent Guzma toppling over in the other direction. 

“Yeah yeah, I’m not dead yet,” Guzma sighed, dropping his head into his hands as it started to swim. “So get outta my grill.” 

When Guzma had first gotten sick, Golisopod had full on panicked. Watching it scramble back and forth at the foot of his bed, worried and agitated, had been bad enough. Then things had gotten out of hand when the bug went on a rampage, tearing through rooms and manhandling Grunts to scrounge up every healing item it could find. Guzma had woken from a painful, restless sleep to find himself surrounded by a nest of potions, revives, and berries that were useless to him.

So Golisopod had gone into its ball until further notice. Thankfully, Plumeria had been stepping in and kicking Guzma’s ass into some semblance of a sleep schedule for the last two days. Now that he felt better, his Pokémon could finally be allowed out again. 

And since then, Golisopod had taken over as Alola’s most uncute nursemaid. Well, at least Guzma didn’t have to worry about whining out his deepest darkest thoughts in a fevered stupor again. Golisopod had already been party to more than one of his breakdowns, and never thought less of him for it. You could always count on bug Pokémon to be loyal.

And he was grateful for it, he really was. He might even admit it out loud if you got him in a good mood. But right now, he'd be even more grateful if he could reach his Ultra Ball and send his fussing, unbearable Pokémon right back in it.

Golisopod still hovered nearby, but it seemed to realize that it was pissing Guzma off. As if in apology, its rhythmic breathing started to vibrate into a deep, warbling hum. This was a noise it was making around Guzma often these days, and what he’d long ago learned was meant to be a relaxation method. Golisopod was leaning its head against Guzma and purring like a cat Pokémon in an attempt to make him feel better.

“Look, I don’t need you to mother hen me. You ain’t exactly a Chansey,” Guzma insisted, even as his eyelids started to droop and his shoulders sagged. Man that sound was effective. He could probably make some extra cash selling recordings of this. What would he call it? Golisopod Grooves? The Soothing Sounds of the Super-Sized Bug?

He was so close to drifting off again when something soft was pushed against his lips, then promptly smashed all over his face.

Sputtering against the sudden, sickeningly sweet burst of juice in his mouth and all down his cheeks and chin, Guzma jerked up, painfully awake. Golisopod was looking at him and chirping in curiosity, the ruined remains of a Pecha Berry shish-kebabbed between two of its smaller claws.

“Damn it—I already told you berries don’t work on me like they do on you!” he snapped, wiping furiously at the sticky trails running down his neck. 

Guzma didn’t know how a Pokémon without distinctive facial features managed to look so utterly put out. Golisopod gave a sorrowful click, its whole body drooping and its antennae lowering. Shit. Guzma could beat anyone down without feeling a lick of guilt over it, but one sad noise from this supposedly intimidating bug and he was done for. It felt almost manipulative at this point.

“Alright, enough of the mopin’,” he grumbled, reaching up to tug at one of Golisopod’s antennae. “I…It’s cool and all that you wanna help, but that’s not how this works. I’ll get better when I get better. Just chill, bud.”

Even that little bit of activity was enough to wear Guzma out again. He slumped back against the pillows and inhaled deeply, wincing when the breath rattled in his lungs. He was getting real sick of all this being sick crap. This time, Golisopod seemed to get the memo that he just wanted to rest—or so Guzma hoped. The bug wolfed down the rest of the berry, then made to settle down at the bed side. Guzma sighed and relaxed again, soothed by the familiar sound of the hard segments of Golisopod’s armor clacking together as the Pokémon hunkered down into a more comfortable position.

He only got a few moments of blessed silence. Not five minutes later, the world’s most infuriating nurse began to tap its four huge claws together, like someone twiddling their thumbs. Except in this case, it sounded like someone relentlessly throwing rocks against a wall. Guzma threw his head back into the pillows and groaned dramatically—then groaned for real when the motion sent his head throbbing from the inside out again.

“Tch! Just….can you get me a drink or somethin’?” he asked, impatient. Maybe giving Golisopod a task to “help” was the way to go here, since the bug seemed insistent on taking care of him. “Get a cup and shoot some water into it. I dunno.”

Golisopod clicked and nodded happily, then went still for a second, contemplating. After a few moments, it perked up with a small trill and picked itself up to scurry across the room and rifle through a pile of random junk in the corner. Guzma turned his head to watch, resting his chin against his shoulder and absently counting the green triangles dotting the armor on the Pokémon’s back.

It seemed to have found what it was looking for, because it turned around with an enthusiastic flair to brandish the prize to Guzma. It was a familiar pink paper bag, sealed with a Skitty sticker. Huh, so that’s where the last of his stash of cocoa had been hiding. Guess he owed that one Grunt he'd accused of stealing it an apology.

“You gonna make that for me?” Guzma asked, clearing his throat when the words half-stuck in there like thick glue. “That’d be a show for sure.”

He swallowed to keep from snickering at the mental image of his Golisopod in a pink apron, trying to work its enormous, clumsy mitts around a pot and stove. As if it was privy to his thoughts, Golisopod droned in what was clearly annoyance. So no, then.

“Well someone’s gotta make it.”

He got a determined chitter as an answer, and he took that to mean ‘I’m on it’ considering the bug set the bag down and went charging out the door immediately after. If Guzma’s throat wasn’t on fire, he would have called out some smug comment about an ‘Emergency Exit’.

It wasn’t even two minutes before Golisopod was back, with a wide-eyed and terrified Grunt balanced on its massive claws. 

“B-boss?” the poor sap asked, trying not to let his knees knock together when Golisopod set him down on trembling legs. “You…you need help with somethin’? I’m your boy!”

This was the first time a Grunt had dared enter the room since Golisopod took up “caretaker” duties. That was smart; facing down both an angry Guzma and a giant, angry bug Pokémon wasn’t a great plan.

But because Guzma’s status had remained a relative mystery, this Grunt was now staring at him like he was some circus freak. He knew he didn’t exactly look like his normal sexy self, but no way it was that bad, right?

“Ask the big guy,” Guzma answered, gesturing lazily towards Golisopod, who was now looming menacingly behind the Grunt. The whole image was kind of destroyed by the pastel pink bag of hot cocoa in its claws, but it seemed to scare the Grunt well enough. Guzma had never seen anyone turn around AND leap back at the same time before.

“H-huh? I don’t…?” the Grunt was stammering now, confused as Golisopod shoved the bag of cocoa into his hands and then pointed at Guzma with a claw. “OH!” he exclaimed once he got the idea through his thick skull. “Y-yeah! I’ll go make this right now!”

“And I’d put the jump on it if I was you,” Guzma rasped, unable to help the grin on his face. “This is a bug on the edge you’re dealing with.”

The Grunt gulped audibly and wasted no time scrambling off to the kitchen to get the cocoa started. Golisopod stood vigil at the door, as if timing the whole process. The moment the young man returned with a steaming mug in hand, the Pokémon gave him a dismissive click and grabbed the cup from him, balancing it between its four smaller claws with impressive diligence. The Grunt needed no more indication to get the hell out, giving an awkward half salute to Guzma before sprinting away.

Now Guzma knew from experience that Golisopod’s talons were sharp and powerful enough to punch straight through a car door. Yet here they were, oh-so-gently cradling a delicate cup as Golisopod began a slow, careful shuffle over to the bed so as not to spill any of the hot drink. Guzma didn’t know if it was the fever that was making him find this so hilarious, but he couldn’t stop himself from sniggering silently.

“Aw, man.” Guzma ran a hand down his face and tried to contain his laughter. His stomach still hurt too much for this. “I train you to be a big badass, and this is what I get. I’m embarrassed FOR you.”

Golisopod gave an irritated chitter as it finally reached the bed and held out the fruits of its “labor”. Guzma was still snickering a little as he took the cup and brought it to his lips to take a swig. It was actually perfect; he’d have to give that Grunt props later—if he could remember which one it was. 

As Guzma slurped down his treat, Golisopod watched, intent, leaning close enough that the purple protrusions on its mouth nearly brushed the bottom of the mug. Guzma let it do what it wanted, too tired to complain about it now and too caught up in the way the heat soothed his throat, pushing down all the muck that had taken up refuge there for way too long.

“’s really good,” Guzma mumbled once he was finished, setting the mug aside and reaching out to pat the softer, light purple flesh of Golisopod’s stomach. “Thanks, bud.”

The Pokémon practically puffed up in pride, trilling contently at its master’s attention and wiggling closer. Then, ridiculously, it extended a black claw to prod at the pillows behind Guzma, as if to fluff them.

“You gonna tuck me in too, mom?” Guzma asked, flashing his partner a tired grin. Golisopod chirped at him, and it sounded a lot like ‘don’t tempt me’.

Now that its “job” was done, Golisopod leaned forward to lay its long upper body out over the bed, stretching to rest its head on Guzma’s stomach. It was heavy, but not enough to be uncomfortable so Guzma allowed it. He set his hand on his Pokémon’s head, rubbing idly at an antenna as Golisopod started up its strange, relaxing droning again.

“If someone comes in here, you gotta get off,” he mumbled, fighting sleep. “We have a rep to keep up.” 

Golisopod purred back at him, and Guzma knew it was an agreement. They had each other’s backs like that.

 

***

 

Plumeria couldn’t hold back her grin. This was just too good. 

She’d entered Guzma’s room expecting to have to yell at him to get to sleep as usual, only to find him already deep in it. Golisopod was slumped awkwardly over the bed with its head resting on Guzma’s stomach, while Guzma’s arm was splayed over its neck. He was open-mouth snoring, sprawled out on the sheets with his shirt riding up over his stomach—more relaxed than Plumeria had ever seen him.

It looked like she wasn’t needed anymore after all. 

And if she snapped a picture of the cute numskulls, well, it was just for posterity’s sake. Or blackmail. She hadn’t decided yet.


End file.
